The Texan (34 page)

“You don’t know that they’re at your father’s hunting cabin,” Bay said.

“Whatever government agency got Clay involved in this mess might have them hidden in a safe house somewhere,” Owen conceded. “But we’ve got to find out for sure. It’s time to get the hell out of Dodge.”

WHEN THEY WERE AIRBORNE IN THE HELICOPTER, OWEN
said, “Who can you reach with that radio?”

Bay tried the radio and said, “It’s not working.”

“It was working before!”

“Well, it’s not working now,” Bay said certainly. “It’s broken.”

“Paul wasn’t taking any chances,” Owen muttered. “Let’s get back to the airport in Alpine. My jet’s there. We can phone my boss and get him moving toward that hunting cabin.”

They reached the airport in Alpine as the predawn light made shapes from shadows. As they approached the helipad, Bay said, “There’s a car on the tarmac waiting for us. Two men in suits with guns are standing next to it.”

“Yeah, but whose side are they on?” Owen wondered aloud.

“What do you want me to do?” Bay asked.

Owen took one look at the gas gauge and realized they didn’t have many options. “Don’t land here,” Owen said. “Head for the hangar where I left my jet.”

As Bay headed the helicopter in the direction Owen had ordered, the two men got into their car and followed.

“This is going to be close,” Owen said.

“Can we get your jet off the ground before they catch up to us?”

Owen smiled. “Before we headed for Alpine, I made sure it was refueled and ready to go. I made a deal with one of the maintenance men to leave it outside the hangar. If we can get there with a little room to spare, we can beat them.”

“Maybe they’re the good guys,” Bay suggested. “Maybe they aren’t involved with Paul.”

“Then why the show of force?” Owen asked. “What are they doing here watching the airport?”

Owen was out the door of the helicopter the instant Bay landed. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s move!”

He ran toward the jet, hoping the mechanic had done the flight check he’d asked him to do, because there wasn’t time for it now. He could see the faces of the two men he assumed were Paul’s thugs through the car windshield. He got into the pilot’s seat and waited for Bay to step into the jet and close the door behind her.

The thugs got out of their car and headed toward them on the run.

“They’re not shooting,” Bay said. “Maybe we should wait and see what they want.”

“What if what they want is to take us someplace more private to shoot us?”

“All right. Go. Let’s go!”

Owen taxied the jet onto the runway and had it in the air moments later. He picked up the radio to contact the tower and swore. “The radio doesn’t work!”

Obviously, his own mechanic hadn’t been the only one at work on the jet. Owen wondered what else might have been “fixed.” He checked the fuel gauge and the hydraulic fluid levels and they seemed fine, but that didn’t mean a leak hadn’t been put in the lines somewhere.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Bay asked.

“As far as I know, all that’s been sabotaged is the radio. Paul has a pretty good idea where I’m going, so he won’t have any trouble following us. The only question is, will we get there in time?”

“You said Clay could take care of himself and Luke.”

“He can,” Owen said. “But I suppose it depends on how much firepower Paul shows up with. Or whether he decides to bring along one of those VX mines.”

“He’d never do that. Would he?” Bay asked, her eyes wide with horror.

“Who knows what that crazy sonofabitch will do,” Owen muttered.

“What are you going to use to fight him?” Bay asked. “I presume you have guns we can pick up at the Castle.”

“There are plenty of guns at the hunting cabin,” Owen said. “But there’s no phone there, either—my father’s idea of ‘getting away.’ It makes sense to stop at the Castle long enough to call in the cavalry. On the other hand, there’s a landing strip right by the hunting cabin. We could go directly there. That would save us some flying time.”

Bay bit her lip. “What do you suggest?”

“A few minutes could make all the difference,” Owen said. “Or no difference at all, if Clay and Luke aren’t at the cabin. Or if I’m way off base with what I’m supposing is the truth.” Owen aimed the plane’s nose up, gaining altitude as fast as he could.

“I don’t think you’re mistaken about Paul Ridgeway,” Bay said. “If that means anything. But maybe we should stop at the Castle and tell someone what we know in case … in case something happens to us.”

“I see what you mean, Red. We’ll call Mabry as soon as we land.”

One of the jet engines flamed out.

“It seems Ridgeway wanted to make sure we didn’t tell anyone what we know,” Owen said grimly.

“Are we going to crash?” Bay was so scared, her lungs had seized up, and she had a death grip on the edge of the seat.

“We’ve got plenty of altitude to work with. We can fly on one engine if nothing else goes wrong.”

No sooner had Owen spoken than the hydraulic system failed. “Guess that stop at the Castle is out,” Owen said. “We’ll shoot for the landing strip at the cabin.”

Bay had never panicked in an emergency, but she was having trouble catching her breath, and her heart was racing so fast it hurt. “If you think about it, this was the smart way for Ridgeway to be rid of us. We crash and there are no bullet holes to explain.”

“Just a foolish pilot who left the airport in such a hurry he didn’t do his flight check. No one will know we were forced into that hurried flight by two thugs with guns.”

Bay let go of the seat with her left hand and clutched Owen’s thigh. “I’m frightened, Owe.”

He wished he could take his hand off the controls to comfort her, but with diminished hydraulics, he needed all his strength to keep the jet level and steady in the air.

“Think back on that paper you did on hydraulics. Any useful suggestions?” he asked with a grin.

She frowned and shook her head. “But I did another one on the most common causes of airplane crashes that—”

“That sounds ominous.”

“How much do you know about soaring?” Bay asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“A Canadian pilot flew a jumbo jet to a safe landing after it ran out of fuel by applying soaring techniques to keep his plane in the air.”

“I went soaring once over Vermont to get a good, quiet look at the fall foliage,” Owen admitted.

“So all you have to do is keep the wings level and do a little sideslipping if the wind blows us off course—”

“Got it,” Owen said. “Assuming we lose that second engine and need—”

The second engine flamed out.

Owen looked at Bay, who looked back, her eyes wide with terror. “Don’t panic,” he said. “I have plenty of experience. As I recall, that soaring trip lasted several hours.”

“You’re a laugh a minute,” Bay said.

“Any last words you want to impart?” Owen said, his features turning grim. “If you’re so certain we’ve come to the end of our rope?”

Owen wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say. Maybe that she loved him, after all. Or that she regretted not taking the chance of loving him. She had to feel something. He couldn’t feel what he did unless there was something coming back from her. Maybe he was trying to make something happen that was never destined to happen. Maybe he was knocking his head against a brick wall, and all he was going to get for it was a big, painful lump.

“Owe,” she said. “I do have feelings for you.”

“Feelings,” he said. “Can you be more specific?”

“I think I might—”

“Hold that thought, Red,” he said as the jet started to plummet. “I think I’m going to be busy for the next few minutes.”

BILLY HAD SPENT THREE DAYS IN THE HOSPI
tal and another week in bed at home. There hadn’t been much else to do but stare at the ceiling and think. The one thought he couldn’t get out of his head was
I’m a Blackthorne
.

It explained so much he hadn’t understood. Why he had never been able to please his “father,” no matter how hard he’d tried. Why his mother had always looked so sad. Why he’d grown so much taller than his “father,” and had crow-black hair instead of brown, like both his parents. Why he’d been so much smarter than his “father,” who’d made so much fun of him for getting good grades that he’d stopped doing it. Why his “father” had always seemed so angry and had taken it out on his only “son.”

Billy had always believed he didn’t fit somehow. Now he knew why. And that knowledge had changed everything.

Summer Blackthorne is my half sister
.

That information had been stunning. And devastating. No wonder they’d felt such an affinity for one another. No wonder they’d become friends. He shuddered to think what might have happened if… Maybe the same instinct
that had drawn them together had kept him from letting their relationship get any more intimate than it had. No wonder his mother had gone crazy when she’d seen them kissing on the porch.

Knowing he was related to Summer didn’t make the ache in his heart hurt any less. Of all the wounds he’d suffered, that one was the worst. Summer had been his ideal life partner, and now she was forbidden to him. He was glad he didn’t have to tell her the truth before he left.

One good thing had come out of all of this. He was going to have the chance to make something of himself. Billy had watched a Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association field agent at work at the stockyard, when he’d been stuck doing more menial tasks, like drawing blood from cattle for brucellosis card tests.

He had yearned for the respect the agent commanded. Had admired the badge he wore, which mimicked the Texas Ranger badge, except for bearing the head of a longhorn in the center of the silver star. Had imagined himself toting a gun and hunting down cattle rustlers and horse thieves.

Billy knew the work of a TSCRA agent was ordinarily more mundane than exciting. But it was a job helping people and would give him a purpose in life, which was something he’d lacked until now. It sounded like he was going to end up with a college education, too. Though it might take him longer going to class at night while he worked. He would finally become the kind of man who might appeal to a woman like Summer Blackthorne.

Except, he could never, ever have her.

Billy wanted to hide his face in his pillow and cry. But his response to adversity had always been to fight back. Being a Blackthorne didn’t change that attribute … or
maybe was responsible for it. He was going to get well and get on with his life. He’d find someone else to love. Find someone else to love him.

First he had to meet with Summer. He dreaded the thought of lying to her about why he was leaving, of making her hate him.

He heard a knock on his bedroom door and then Summer’s voice saying, “Billy? Are you in there?”

Before he could reply, she had shoved open the door, closed it behind her, and locked it. Splotches of mascara were smeared under her eyes, which were swollen red from crying. Her golden curls were shoved into a clip on top of her head, from which numerous strands had fallen. She was dressed in jeans and a Western shirt and boots which, although they might be her oldest clothes, were still nearly new.

He pushed himself into a sitting position in his iron-railed bed and pulled the sheet up to cover himself to the waist, since he was naked beneath it. “What are you doing here, Summer? My mom’s going to be back any minute, and you know how she feels—”

“God, Billy. You still look so awful! That bull really stomped you bad.”

She’d come to see him when he was in the hospital, suspicious that he’d ended up hurt so soon after her father’s visit. He’d reassured her that Blackjack had nothing to do with his injuries, that he’d gotten cornered by his bull.

She was so trusting of her father—and so naïve—that she’d believed his lies.

He’d told her not to visit him when he got home, because he’d dreaded a showdown between Summer and his mother. Yet here she was.

He took a good look at her face and realized she’d been crying. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She wrung her hands as she paced back and forth at the foot of his bed. “I had to see you. I have something to tell you.”

Billy’s heart leaped to his throat and made it impossible to speak. She’d found out somehow. He could tell from the stricken look on her face. The tears welled in her eyes as she moved toward him. He inched backward, not wanting her to touch him, feeling unclean and guilty, though he had nothing to feel guilty for.

She sat gingerly on the foot of his iron-railed bed, as though she didn’t want to touch him—or be touched—either. He could understand her feelings.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “There’s no reason for us to be talking about this. The past is the past, and we go on from here.”

Furrows appeared on her brow. “How did you find out?”

“I think the better question is, how did you find out?”

“I overheard my parents talking the day of your accident. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it ever since. At first you were in too bad shape for me to lay all this on you. Since then … I haven’t had the courage.”